


So Much To Say/I Mean To Tell You

by Laura_McEwan



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-26
Updated: 2007-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_McEwan/pseuds/Laura_McEwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch's, and then Starsky's, thoughts surrounding the events of <i>Starsky vs Hutch</i> and <i>Sweet Revenge</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Much To Say

__

So much to say, so much to say, so much to say, so much to say  
'Cos here we have been standing for a long long time  
can't see the light  
treading trodden trails for a long long time...

_I find sometimes it's easy to be myself  
sometimes I find it's better to be somebody else_

It's my fault, every last bit of it. I take full responsibility and can only hope he'll forgive me someday.

It started when I was too jealous of his relationship with Kira to give myself to the job as I should have. I compromised the case, his safety, her safety, _my_ safety.

Although if anything had happened to me, I would have deserved it.

I deserved his punches, his anger pulled from his heart. I betrayed him.

I betrayed myself.

And he made me pay. Oh, God, how he made me pay.

My phone didn't ring. At work he talked to me only when he had to. The one thing he never did was let me walk into danger—always, always, he had my back.

No matter what, I could at least count on that.

Not that I deserved it.

Even our truce over Kira, once we both realized how much she had played us, proved tenuous. Walking out of Huggy's with our arms around each other was a balm but not a resolution, a little band-aid over the gaping wound in our relationship that our—my—actions had torn open.

Slowly, out of a reverence to the love we had shared for each other, we climbed that mountain of friendship, wanting to be kings again. We found it easy to fall back into familiar patterns but a sad hesitance always came first; a glance up to see if the other would be receptive to the idea before making the simple assumptions we used to. The banter was forced.

It was a bit like walking on cracking ice, except we were starting from the middle and working towards the solid shore, avoiding what seemed weakest and leading each other around the larger holes. But just as that shore was in sight, when laughter and affection came easily and the last of the bitterness and pain had faded away, bullets tore us apart again.

The glass shattered around me like rain from a sudden downpour, and later I would stare at my hands, wonder how they had not been able to protect him. How they had escaped even the most minor injury amongst all the tiny sharp edges when just a few feet away my partner, the best friend I'd ever had or ever would, had begun to die.

I remember standing there. I could hear the rush of my breath and the pounding of blood in my ears but my feet would not move. Starsky stared at me, through me, his body twitching as he began to float in a puddle of his own making. The breathy sound of him trying to call my name propelled me towards him, to hold his head and tell him everything was all right.

Peripherally I sensed the chaos around us, but I focused only on my partner. I stayed with him until the hospital and then I felt myself shoved away, so hard I stumbled into a wall. I clung to the edge of the doorway and rolled myself around it to peer in to where white coats heaved and pulled, tossed and gestured, where voices babbled orders and hands began to drip with red.

Starsky's blood. So much.

He'd already shed too much recently. I had broken his heart—I know, for he told me so in one of our painful talks, walking on that thin ice. I had spilled emotional blood and now I hadn't prevented the spilling of real blood.

I had failed him. Again.

Once they moved him to a room, I sat outside his window, watching, part of me grateful for the presence of my captain and my friend, another part of me wishing they'd go away, to allow me to focus solely and only on the man in that room, the man I'd die for, the man I wished I could trade places with.

I truly felt it was the only way to make it all up to him.

Instead, I went after Gunther, and got him. Even without Starsky at my back, I could still feel him there, his strength of spirit propelling me forward, just as it had when he was lying there in a pool of blood.

It was the least I could do.

But still. I had failed him.

*~*~*

My guilt took on the shape of a quilt, my promises the squares I added every day, covering him up to protect him from anything that could possibly cause him future pain. I begged God to allow me that earlier bargain, to put me in that bed instead.

I wandered the room, talking to myself, not caring if the nurse heard me or not. She had a book; she didn't care about him or me, not beyond her professional capacity.

She reminded me of myself during Kira's hold on us, personal pleasure taking precedence over the importance of the job.

Maybe that's not fair. He only needed someone nearby in case an alarm went off, someone who knew how to read and analyze the information, to call for help or gripe about the inconsistency of the machine.

But every time one of those damned alarms went off, the pit in my stomach dug itself deeper, not repairing itself when the tone proved false.

Starsky saved me again, though. Always watching my back, even at death's door, because when I thought that pit had finally eaten as deeply as it could go and I would die with the next alarm, he woke up.

*~*~*

He didn't speak at first, just watched me with faintly haunted eyes, blinking as if not sure if he were awake or asleep still. His mouth moved but he made no sound. I sat beside him, talked, held his hand.

Within a day, he squeezed back.

By the second day, he could say my name. So different from the last time he'd said it, even though it sounded the same, because this time he wasn't asking for help. This time, it was in recognition.

I hope someday it will include forgiveness.

I have so much to say to him.

_~end_


	2. I Mean to Tell You

_It's crazy I'm thinking  
Just as long as you're around  
And here I'll be dancing on the ground  
Am I right side up or upside down  
To each other we'll be facing  
By love we'll beat back the pain we've found  
You know  
I mean to tell you all the things I've been thinking deep inside  
My friend  
With each moment the more I love you_

—**Crush**

*~*~*

I wanted to blame him. Easy enough to do, 'cause Hutch wears guilt like a favorite shirt, and won't let it go until it's worn out. Usually I'd find a way to get him to drop it, but this time, I let him wear it for a long time.

I'd seen him jealous before, but not of me. I had a little bit of a powertrip with it, having all his attention, but I didn't forget we had a job to do at that dance club, and he did. Not that I helped him focus on it until we were yellin' at each other about it all, not like I shoulda done. I put my finger in his face and he put his in mine. It wasn't pretty.

I don't know if I'd ever slammed out of his place before, but when that door banged behind me, I felt bad. Even though I knew I was right to say what I said.

I was just too late in the sayin'.

I tried to patch it up. Then I told him how I thought I felt about Kira. Man, even now, sayin' her name is like fingernails on a chalkboard, y'know? Still, that SOB went right to her and fucked her. Pulled a fast one on me. Testing me, I guess. Pretty much broke me.

And when I saw him coming out of her room, all mussed up and tucking in his shirt, I saw that guilt again. God, I wanted to hurt him. I've NEVER wanted to hurt Hutch before, but I saw red and attacked him, right there in her hallway, hearing her yellin' at us just as he was returning punch for punch.

Taught him everything he knows.

And Kira, that bitch, kicked us both out and then there we were, the three of us, tryin' to work the case and be a team when we were barely talking to each other.

When that hand grenade blew and there she was, running to take care of that creep instead of one of us, I knew then that I'd really fucked up. Hutch looked at me across the room, and I couldn't face him. Couldn't look in those eyes that looked sadly at her and then at me. I hung my head and felt like shit.

When he knocked on my door that night, he looked about how I felt. We talked real quiet for a time, not quite apologizing, instead figuring a way to get back at Kira for her lies and the shit she'd dragged us both through. When he left, he looked like he was gonna say something more, but I just mock-punched him on the arm and closed the door.

I wasn't ready to deal with his guilt yet. I still needed to deal with mine.

The scene at Huggy's was satisfying enough, and having Hutch's arm around me when we left felt really good, but we still had a long way to go. At work we were better, back to our easy way of knowing what each other was thinking when it came to a case. After work was the hardest, what with both of us trying to let the other take the lead. Sorta like that old movie where the guys are sayin' "After you." "No, after you." "No, I insist, after you."

That got real old real quick and we sorta fell into not doing anything together for a bit. I think we needed the space.

And then I called him, asked him if he wanted to pick up a pizza, I had beer, there was a game on tv.

And he said yes.

Getting drunk is a dangerous way to get someone talkin', but it worked for us. We both had things to say and we said 'em. We wore out the rug walkin' it, but we never yelled. We'd had enough of that, I think.

We cried, though. He probably wouldn't like admittin' that, but we did. A couple of "I love ya, buddy"'s later and we saw our old road open again. Cried in our beers while we leaned against each other hard and it was like we were connected again. Cord and electric socket, you know? Together, we light up. Without each other, we're powerless.

We worked on it a lot, and it was nice how we were able to fall back into our easy buddy patter again. Sometimes, though, one of us would say somethin' and it'd bring us up short, but we just kinda looked at each other, blew a breath, and moved on.

But like I said, Hutch wears guilt a long time.

The hit is still kinda a blur. I remember falling down and Hutch standing there, starin' at me. I could feel that something was really wrong and I tried to call him, wanted him to come talk to me, and he did, but I don't remember anything he said.

When I woke up I saw him wearin' that Hutch-hangdog look. But he was there. I was so damned glad he was the first thing I saw when I finally got my eyes open again.

I couldn't move right away, but I could feel his hands on me, pettin' and rubbin' and just holdin' me. Listening to him talk was like listenin' to my favorite record, lettin' it put me to sleep. His face lit up when I squeezed his hand—I'd tried for what seemed like a long time to move and that was the first thing I could do. It took longer to make my voice work, but it did. He said it was only a couple of days but it seemed a lot longer.

He thinks it's his fault Gunther got me. He's wearin' that favorite shirt again.

I've got a lot to say to him.

_~end  
_

**Author's Note:**

> I am finding that I'm quite fascinated with exploring the issues surrounding the two episodes **Starsky vs Hutch** and **Sweet Revenge**. While upon original airing the shows were the final two in the series, it's argued that **SvH** was meant to have run earlier in the season. Still, I find that having them run right next to each other gives **SR** a heavier punch in the gut, and from that comes these two POV stories.
> 
> Creative story titles and meaningful lyrics excerpts shamelessly swiped from The Dave Matthews Band.
> 
> Much thanks goes out to Lolabobs for her beta advice and insight on these two stories that absolutely screamed to be written, making me shove aside a different story in process that I had open on my screen. Literally. Any mistakes are mine.


End file.
